


" Celebrate With Me, Mr. Madison "

by NotIshimaru



Category: 18th Century CE RPF
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Multi, POV Alternating, Period-Typical Homophobia, Secret Relationship, hopefully it's not confusing, implied adultery, polyamory would fix everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 08:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30119796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotIshimaru/pseuds/NotIshimaru
Summary: James Madison finds his lifetime political partner and friend to be a more suitable lover than his own wife. He wrestles with the guilt of keeping his affair a secret.Thomas Jefferson has a bright idea.
Relationships: Dolley Madison/James Madison, Thomas Jefferson/James Madison
Kudos: 3





	" Celebrate With Me, Mr. Madison "

**Author's Note:**

> This might be my magnum opus.

Monticello: October 23rd, 1794

I almost choked on my wine at Thomas' unexpected invitation. To be fair, I was already not a fan of Thomas' acidic French wines, but I digress. He, in the midst of our conversation, had the gall to offer a 'celebration'?

"Sir, is there something amiss with you?" I asked with a small eye roll. Thomas knows I can't stay down here with him. Why, Thomas shouldn't even be here in Virginia. Yet here we are. Sipping wine and ignoring Alexander, Callendar, and their merry little band of federalists up north. Talk of celebrations and festivities.

Thomas tilted his chin up a little with a smug smile. I raised an eyebrow at him as he adjusted himself. His slow body language was preparing me for anything he'd throw at me. I smiled back, sitting forward with my wine glass sat between my legs.

"What are you thinking of, Sir?" I asked, pressing further. Thomas was so hard to figure out, but that's one of the things I've found myself liking about him. A freethinker and dreamer, yet bound by his own hypocrisies and failed promises.

Occasionally, I've felt the strong need to protect him from himself. Sure, Alexander had a reputation of going in headstrong. But Thomas could be just as bad. I'd know; I've worked with both of them closely.

"Jim." Thomas snapped me out of my thoughts, waving his glass around fluidly. He extended one of his long legs across the sofa and onto mine. He whined.  
"James! Married man, now. Unable to spare a second of his time avec moi."

"Sir." I recoiled my hand, bringing my glass out from my legs and letting Thomas make himself comfortable. I set the glass to the side, huffing softly through my nose. This man, this monster. Always able to drag me out of my steady mind with his charms.

"You know where I need to be, Thomas. You, too. We can't just lounge around in Monticello all day, expecting the world to keep working for us." I swallowed a shallow breath, as Thomas sat up. He shuffled across the sofa, sitting next to me, an arm extending in front of me to prevent me from getting up.

With Thomas' hand on the arm of the chair and his body over mine, I felt myself trapped. It didn't help that I was as thin as a rail, and that he was quite blocky and angular. And tall. I stared daggers up at him, Thomas' freckled face only becoming more amused.

"Jemmy, come on. I know you would love to stay down here with me. What's the real bother?" Thomas' voice was syrupy, laced with sugary deceit. He always knew how to get his way with me, at least. Thomas didn't budge at all, nor did I fight back. He was right. Almost always right.

I wanted to stay here. I was comfortable in his lavish home, and he always knew how to keep me entertained. Sometimes, I wondered why he was so devoted to keeping me here with him. Thomas has spent five years now trying to get me to move in with him.

“Take a bed and plate with me, James. Please. I know you’ll love it.”

I felt my face get hot at recalling his hospitality. He never faltered on that front. The thing was, I couldn’t ever risk compromising our “relationship” by staying permanently with him. So, I always turned down his invitations.. although I wished to pursue them wholeheartedly.

“I have reading to catch up with. Maybe another time.”

I cringed at my pitiful excuses. I could only imagine how Thomas felt when he’d get my letters turning him down. If there’s one thing Thomas doesn’t like; it’s rejection. Things not going his way. Especially as he loved to micromanage the lives of his friends.

“I- I can’t, Thomas.” I bit my lip, conjuring up a new reason to not stay down here. Being transparent with my fears wouldn’t get me anywhere, Thomas never understood subtlety. Especially with those prying eyes of the public on us.

“I can’t live with you here. The risk is too great.” I faced Thomas’ allusions in a straightforward manner, watching as his lips pursed in that frustrated way they always did when he was losing. He looked so attractive when he’d purposefully pout at me, like when he would be put in check during our chess games.

Those games. The strategy bled into here, as well.

Thomas, just as similarly as he did in chess, was able to predict my next move. He slumped down next to me, freeing up the space in front of me courteously. I rolled my eyes again, pivoting around on the sofa to face him. I grabbed one of his big hands. They were cold, as always.

“Thomas, you know Dolley’s up north covering for my absence. Worrying. We’re not where we’re supposed to be.” I rubbed his palm with my thumbs, causing Thomas to break into a small smile. His hazel eyes stared back into mine with some understanding. They softened. I sighed.

Not only was I trying to be a good husband, but also a valiant worker. As much as I adore Thomas, his laziness was overwhelming. To pour himself into different subjects, to be on the road to mastering many arts. It was inspiring, yet a great distraction from the real work he had to accomplish.

Thomas finally curled his hand around mine, squeezing it softly. His eyes were torn off of me, but I felt his comfort still. I quickly glanced around the room to secure our privacy, then moved one hand up to his arm. I held it. He gently leant back, reciprocating my movements.

I didn’t know what I was doing. Just so diligently explaining my want to leave, and now I’m tangled in Thomas’ intrigue. I wonder if he even meant to get me like this: wanting. I’d lost my grip on my rationality, pushing any of my sensibility deep down.

It was wordless. Without dialogue. I moved one way, and Thomas matched it perfectly. If I were to move my bishop across the board, he’d meet mine. Pawn took pawn. Yet, despite our supposed equality, I’ve always felt like I’m the one in check by the end of it all.

I buried my face into his shoulder, my hands wrapped around his waist. His back was against the arm of the chair, laying comfortably. I was light enough to lie right on top of him without issue. Thomas’ breaths were slow and controlled, raising me up and down as I indulged in his presence.

He always got me, didn’t he?

“Take this blasted thing off, won’t you?” Thomas murmured, I peeked my eyes open to figure out just what Thomas wanted off of me. Before I knew it, he’d plucked my wig off of the top of my head and set it to the side. His long fingers combed some powder out of my hair. It felt so nice, as he scratched and rubbed the back of my head, causing me to close my eyes again.

It couldn’t hurt to stay another night with him. To continue to celebrate with him, to take up his offer of a bed and plate.

If not only for a little longer.

\---- 

Philadelphia: November 1st, 1794

“Just a little longer, Dolley.” I read my husband’s closing lines of his letter aloud. James had spent the past week down in Virginia, supposedly polling with Thomas. Important matters. Rudely unspecified matters.

I couldn’t be mad at him, though. He’d apologized many times throughout the letter, saying that his display of behaviour was unprecedented in its disrespect. He could be so dramatic. Maybe Thomas wrote that letter. I wouldn’t be too surprised.

It was hard to believe that James was really mine. As much as Mr. Burr’s assurance that James had completely fallen for me, I knew better than that. It was easy to front feelings. Even easier if you were feeling lovestruck over someone else.

I don’t cry over it. I folded up the letter and added it to the ever-growing pile of letters from James. Most wives would get their loving husband around the house, if not for a moment. Most wives, especially newlyweds like myself, would get to “celebrate” with their partner.

I wasn’t like most wives, apparently. And James was much, much different than most husbands- men in general. He expressed a certain amount of femininity. Womanish behaviour that I’ve seen men ridiculed for.

I always wonder how James is in such a place of power. Then I remember his passionate, intelligent mind. The way he poised himself, despite being feverish and frail. His beautiful, elegant way of carrying himself. The talk of philosophy that he’d spew as if it were the weather.

I love him.

I coughed gently into the back of my hand, clearing my throat for no reason other than to make noise. It was the dead of the night, close to witching hour. Lord knows I don’t want to be up at such a peculiar point of the night.

There was no point in staying up and writing a response. I had received his letter just today. I could fib my way out of a speedy response, saying I received it tomorrow. It doesn’t feel like the time to sort out my husband’s situation.

I couldn’t be mad at him. He was happy. Isn’t that what every good wife should hope for in her husband? His eternal happiness? Even if that happiness was found without her presence?

It would be presumptuous to even assume he was with someone else. Especially Thomas. But my mind knew that had to be the truth. The way my husband acts around the other man. I sighed deeply at the thought, picking up my quill. I twirled it between my fingers in thought, noticing the pale moonlight shining onto my fingernails.

I felt as if I were in a painting. My dark eyes drifting up to pierce into the equally mysterious sky, finding the glimmering stars beautiful. Almost as if they were placed with purpose, as to calm my racing mind. My racing heart. My longing heart.

“I cannot rest contented, as you are far away.. if only you could be with me. Without fear or doubt.” I spoke into the endless sky, feeling my face flush red with shame. My eyes started to flood with tears. The hot, streaming tears poured quickly from my eyes and onto the folded parchment of James’ letter.

Everything felt hot, despite the cold night outside. My hands shook furiously, angry at the world for putting me in this disposition. Why was everything I longed for so far away? Why have I had my world sacrificed? My husband and son, gone. My new husband off with another and my other son completely dissatisfied.

Why couldn’t I fill my heart with courage to keep pushing forward? As the world takes, my love is drained. I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, slowly steadying my breaths as not to wake my sleeping sister.

Maybe there would be some use in writing a response, as to get my horribly jealous and betrayed feelings off of my chest. It would do no good to hold this in. I know I have to let him do what he wants, it was not my place to instigate. Especially as he’s given me status and opportunity. His attention and company.

So, I picked up my quill and scratched out the date on the top of the parchment. It was most likely the second of November, having past midnight. My hand steadied, my mind full, I had to deliver my thoughts onto the page with care and caution. It would be dangerous if I alluded to my husband’s position too closely.

“My beloved James,

I wish as to so tenderly remind you of my affections. Your letter of the 24th has just be receiv’d by me, and I believe it to be in your favour to write back.

Better yet, dearest, would be for your timely return home. Payne and I are anxious for yr arrival, and do long for you. It has been a week, dearest.

I hope that you will find the want to come home and celebrate with me, Mr. Madison.

Forever your’s, DPM”

\----

Monticello: November 17th, 1794

I laid back across my bed, hand under my head and leg propped up on James' shoulder. He was hunched over by the end of the bed, scribbling hastily onto a sheet of parchment with one of my good quills. Not only one of my good quills, but also my portable desk on his lap. I wonder what he'd do without my devices.

Or my attention. James, as much as he was fussy and snide, was unable hide the fact that he adored my company. As I justly adored him, too. His work, ever since the beginning, had impressed me. It took many chess games and tea for him to get close, and once he was close, I was finally able to find flaws in his characters.

He's disappointed me many times. I know Mr. Pendleton would slap me if I told him half the things I've criticized about our dear friend. I suppressed a small laugh. It was all in good fun. It's not like James was feeling any burden or pressure, nor was he being weighed down.

"Thomas, your leg is weighing on me. I struggle to write with your foot in my face." James complained with a low growl, shoving my leg off of his shoulder harshly. I felt offended by the sudden bitterness, sitting up and swinging my legs off the bed. I slid over to James' side, arm around his shoulders.

James didn't seem to be in the mood. He quickly clasped his hands over what he was writing, nearly spilling his pot of ink over in the frantic movement. His pale eyes fearfully looked up at me, and I felt a pang of guilt. Had I interrupted something important? Was he writing to someone important?

"Oh, Jemmy. Why do you look so afraid?" I asked with a new sense of subtlety, slowly dragging my hand across his back and petting it. I then retracted my hand fully, giving James an uncomfortable little smile. It was hard to comfort him, I admit. After a few moments, James regained his composure and stared down at the paper.

“I have to write a letter.” James mumbled, picking up one of his hands from the portable desk. His hand was stained with ink, which was dark against his pale skin. It was even pastier than my own skin, and I’m ginger! Probably not as white as his wife, though. As I recall, she wore the most beautiful makeup. She always looked dolled up, befitting of her name.

Dolley.

Such a lovely woman. Enjoyed French luxuries similarly to myself. While not quite as petite as I’d prefer, she was a woman of great bounty in personality. She was strong. Curiously enough, she found herself with James. I’m supportive, as much as I can be. I don’t mean to be a home wrecker.

I bet James was able to feel my curious eyes on him, prying without words. He gave up with trying to hide the letter’s destination, handling it over to me. I shook the paper gently, as to dry it off, then set my reading glasses on the bridge of my nose, off of my hair.

“Dolley.”

I hummed. Hm. James picked at the strands of the feathered quill anxiously, waiting for me to give his precious letter back. And so I did, and he was grateful. I tried to think logically. Why would James be so upset writing a letter to Dolley?

Could it be?

“Don’t worry, Thomas. I’ll..” James sucked ina breath harshly, closing his eyes to suppress his vulnerability. I stayed still.  
“I’ll fix this.” James whispered, holding his head down and refusing to open his eyes. I could read him very well, now. Dolley must’ve figured us out. But she’d never, ever hold it against us.

Would she?

“James-” I began, reaching a hand out to him. He opened his eyes and flinched away. I watched as he capped his pot of ink and set the portable desk to the side. Before I could try any more contact, James put a hand up, cool blue eyes drifted toward the ground. He looked hopeless.

Even if I couldn’t move, I spoke.

“James, there is a possibility that Dolley might understand the circumstance.” I spoke persuasively, voice catching a rift of softness. James seemed to be ready to turn cold, to block his affections toward me as a means of protecting us. As valiant of an effort he displayed, I couldn’t accept it. He needed to be reassured of my feelings.

Even if I couldn’t speak, I moved.

As James’ gaze finally matched mine, I closed the space between us. My arms wrapped around his thin body securely, as I held onto him with impeccable grip. He sniffed into my shoulder, spilling his feelings over. I encouraged it, my hands soothing over his bony back. I cringed at the odd sensations that James’ spine dealt upon my fingers.

He was tense. Stressed. For good reason. Maybe I shouldn’t have selfishly kept him around. I never meant to hurt him like this, nor was Dolley tasting of sour grapes when she expressed her feelings to James. James deserved to go home, and I was keeping him from that. Even still, as I hold him in my arms.

I rubbed small circles into his back and sides, letting James relax. A little man like him couldn’t take all this wound up stress, it’d do such a toll on his mental and physical health. As I was trying to take the burden off of James, he seemed to notice my insecurities.

“Don’t despair, Thomas.” James peeked his head up from my shoulder, his lips moving to my cheek and placing a gentle kiss on it. I felt my lungs tighten and heart blossom. In return, I placed a heavier kiss on his forehead, my large hand cupping the back of his head to keep him steady.

We were so close.

“I, I..” I stammered, hand curling in his hair thoughtfully. I wasn’t able to control my possessive behaviour, nor was James resisting anymore. He stared up, confused. Next thing I knew, my hand was retracted from his hair and on his shoulder.

“Thomas?” James inquired, unable to understand why I stopped. Usually able to pick me apart so well, but not now. It was new for me to try and let go, or let up at all. I wasn’t ready to lose James to someone else, even though I knew deep down that’d never happen.

“Do you want to go home, James?” I asked with a long sigh afterward. I was respecting his wants, but really hating how much it went against my potential benefits. It would be a lot to get over my loneliness, if James were to leave.

He was so close.

James gnawed on his bottom lip in thought. I felt his hesitation, as he stared aimlessly up at me. He didn’t want to go home, did he? He wanted to live this lazy life with me, but probably felt so guilty about it.  
I caused so much pain for him. How could I have done this? Trapped him so?

“Thomas. Home, to me, is where the heart belongs.”

James slowly brought a slender finger to his mouth, biting on his knuckles nervously. Like he didn’t want to admit how he felt. It was so hard to be verbally affectionate, in these times.  
We were so dirty and wrong. And yet..

“And my heart belongs with you.”

James’ hand moved from his mouth to my hand, which had been on his shoulder. He moved my hand over his heart. I smiled softly, tears gathering at my eyes.  
Even if I was guilty for causing such wreckage, my love for this man outweighed any outside pressures.

“And mine with you, love.”

…

James and I would make it through this.

We had to..

Maybe our love

would be accepted

one day..


End file.
